The Lover and The Physio
by GinnyNoTonic
Summary: Jackson is still in hospital


The Lover and the Physio

Whoever said there was no peace in a hospital had been right; Aaron had got used to the constant stream of people in and out of Jackson's room. While he had been in a coma there had hardly been a minute when there wasn't a doctor or nurse in the room; the doctors looking at Jackson: looking at the lacerations from the accident, at the neat incisions caused by their knives; at the halo and brace keeping his neck rigid, working for a tiny miracle; looking at the machines, pressing buttons, changing the coloured line, the life-recording beeps; the music that had become the lyric of Aaron's life as he jumped at any slight change or variation. The nurses watching Jackson; writing notes, watching the machines, writing notes; checking all the tubes and lines; there were so many; IVIs, CVP line, arterial line, god! they even measured how much he pee'd every hour. About the only thing that wasn't measured Aaron thought, was how many tears had been cried in that room.

There had been radiographers, wheeling in unwieldy machines, sending them all from the room for the seconds it took to take their x-ray pictures. From the day after his admission, the physiotherapist had visited two or three times a day, gently moving his unresponsive arms and legs, pushing against his feet. She was an older woman, introducing herself as Mrs MacPherson, grey-haired, her clipped Scots tones rather abrupt but in a kindly fashion. By the third day, as she realised that Aaron was to be found more often at the hospital, by Jackson's bed than not, she beckoned him close to the bed, to the opposite side from where she was working. She took the blanket from the bed then lifted the sheet from the end of the bed, gently laying it over Jackson's midriff.

"Now, dear, I'll do it first, then you copy my movements," she said, lifting one of Jackson's legs.

Aaron stretched out his hand, his fingers grazing against the hairs dark against the pale skin of his lover's leg, his fingers barely touching.

"You're not going to hurt him, and whatever happens, he's going to need his muscles, so chin up and just do what I do." Carefully she lifted Jackson's leg, then bent his knee a little before applying gentle pressure against his foot. Resting his leg down again, she nodded to Aaron to do the same. Taking a deep steadying breath, Aaron tried to copy her movements.

It felt so strange, lifting the dead weight of his boyfriend's legs; the legs that had so often been wrapped around his own body, pulling him deeper inside him when they made love. Aaron pushed the thought from his mind; he couldn't, wouldn't think about that just now.

Finishing with his legs, Mrs MacPherson moved onto Jackson's arms; again she let Aaron shadow her movements.

"Now dear, when you are holding his hand..."

Aaron felt a furious blush rush to colour his face.

"Wheesht lad! You think I was born yesterday! As I was saying; when you're holding his hand, just move his fingers and wrist, just very gently and be careful of the drips. Everything helps."

Aaron got used to the rhythm of the days; sitting alone or with Hazel, grateful for her support when Jackson's father appeared, hurt and venomous, blaming him, trying to keep him from his son's side. Taking turns with Hazel, sitting with Jackson, resenting any moment away from his side, whether banished by the doctors or collapsing into an hour or so of fitful sleep in the relative's room. He went home occasionally, for a shower, a change of clothes, but they were brief, unhappy visits, visits when he avoided seeing anyone if he could, not able to bear their hopeful questions.

Then Jackson woke up. It was the beginning of the rollercoaster, of soaring relief and optimism, of plunging despair as the doctors told them the dreadful, unbelievable, unfair news that Jackson might never walk, might hardly move again.

It felt different now, as Aaron sat beside him, lifting his hand, moving each finger in turn, knowing that he couldn't feel that movement, couldn't feel his fingers touching his own. Knowing that if he didn't look, see Aaron moving him, he would not know his hand was being moved. Aaron couldn't imagine it in his own head, the enormity of it; his head felt like mince just thinking of it. Heaven knows what was going in Jackson's mind, how he was finding the strength to cope.

Yet he did; somehow, by some magic he was coping. So far. It was still early days, still coming to term with it days; still days spent mostly asleep, loaded with analgesia, surfacing, acknowledging Hazel or Aaron, both or either beside him, with just a few short, brave sentences.

Sometimes it was hard to tell if Jackson was awake or sleeping when he went into the room , until he saw the flickering of his eyelids, the movement of his eyes, searching the room for him to come into his view.

Coming close to the bed near his head, Aaron gently touched his fingers to Jackson's cheek, to a part of his body where he could feel the touch of his lover upon his skin. Aaron gazed down at the expressive face; his heart felt torn by the mix of emotions racing through it. He let a smile touch his lips, hiding the turmoil within himself.

"I've brought a couple of books in; wondered if you'd want me to read to you," Aaron began hesitantly.

"So long as it's not 'A beginner's guide to car engines' or a Mr Men book, you're fine," Jackson replied, his voice gruff and grating, as it had been since he woke up.

"Nah, just a couple of whodunits, nothing heavy. And I've got Paddy's laptop to load more stuff to the ipod."

Jackson smiled at him. "D'you know what I'd like, if you really want to read to me?" he paused. "Harry Potter. From the first book."

Aaron pulled a face, "It's a kid's book."

Jackson looked at him; he couldn't tell him, not if he hadn't thought of it for himself; he was as helpless as a child, beyond the helplessness of a child. He smiled. "I've been meaning to read it for ages." In his head, he shrugged.

"Harry Potter it is then," Aaron smiled. He lifted the laptop, switched it on and waited while it booted up. Over the last few days he had found it easier if he had something to do while he sat with Jackson; something they could talk about. He wanted to be there, at his bedside, he hated any time away, but that didn't mean it was easy. It was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. Harder even than the words he had forced himself to speak in court; so much harder.

There was knock at the door as it was pushed open; a tall blond man entered, a tall blond man with film-star good looks.

"Hello Jackson," he said as he came fully into the room

"Hi," said Jackson. His eyes flicking towards the newcomer's voice, waiting for him to come closer, into his view, into his world.

"Who are you?" asked Aaron, his voice clashing with Jackson's.

"Erik Larsson, physiotherapist," he replied, introducing himself, answering Aaron's question but looking at Jackson as he came further into the room.

"Where's Mrs MacPherson," demanded Aaron, already annoyed, already on the offensive.

"Day off," he replied abruptly. "And you are?" He looked at Aaron, raising one perfect, pale eyebrow.

"Aaron Livesy, I'm his boyfriend," the words were spat out, a challenge, a defiant assertion.

"Good to meet you Aaron. Now perhaps you would like to get a coffee or something while I work with Jackson." His words were firm, his eyes held Aaron's.

"I'll just stay if you don't mind; Mrs MacPherson doesn't have a problem with me staying." Aaron didn't move from where he stood by Jackson's bed.

"I would rather you didn't," said Erik, firmly, moving back, holding the door open, giving Aaron no choice.

Aaron looked at Jackson, a question unspoken in his eyes.

"I'll be fine," Jackson whispered, trying to reassure Aaron. "Just do it, make it easier for me."

"If you're sure,"

"I am. Just don't be too far away, eh?"

"Never." Aaron let a small smile touch his lips as he looked at Jackson, a smile that faded, was replaced by a dark scowl, as he turned away, as he faced Erik.

Erik held the door until Aaron had passed through, then closed it firmly behind him. He moved to Jackson's bed.

"I'm sorry," said Jackson quietly. "He's finding it hard."

"I'm sure he is," replied Erik, "but he's not my patient, you are, and I have to do what is best for you. Right, are you ready?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," replied Jackson, his thoughts still with Aaron.

"Hey! He'll be fine. He's just a little bit annoyed with me just now. But he wants what is best for you, and from my point of view, giving your muscles a workout is what is best. Okay, I'll begin with your right leg."

Erik began working the muscles of Jackson's legs, his right, then his left, speaking quietly, he explained what he was doing, why he was doing it, glancing frequently at Jackson as he worked. He shared just a little of himself as his hands moved unfelt over Jackson's body; he was twenty six, Swedish, although his family had moved to London when he was five, he loved being a physio and he was very, very good at his job. He smiled down at Jackson.

Jackson looked up into his pale blue eyes, into the perfect features, the blond hair a choppy halo around his head. He closed his eyes, wished he could close his mind as easily; his body felt nothing yet his mind was racing. He had been watching Erik's hands moving over his body, touching him; wishing they were Aaron's hand, his sweetly remembered caresses arousing him.

He screwed his eyes tighter closed; he didn't want to cry, he couldn't cry now because he couldn't wipe the tears away. But god! he wanted Aaron; really wanted him. He was there! in his head! the way he touched him, teased his body to arousal, found his most sensitive, pleasurable spots and took him soaring to the heights of passion before exploding with him. How long had it been? It felt like only days; he knew it was longer, knew he'd lost more than a week; suddenly he knew he had lost so much than time in that week, suddenly he realised never again would they share their bodies. He couldn't even turn away, hide his head in the comfort of his pillow; he never wanted to open his eyes again.

Aaron glared at Erik as he left; hearing the door shut firmly behind him, he paused at the window that looked into Jackson's room from the corridor. The blinds were almost completely closed, just a chink between each slat for him to peek through. Quickly he wished he hadn't; he could see Erik talking to Jackson, smiling, could see his blond head nodding at Jackson's reply, could see his hands beginning to move his leg, to run all over his leg...he moved away from the window, he couldn't watch any more. He lent against the wall, rubbing his hands across his face, trying to ease the tension he felt coursing through his veins, trying to calm the sudden, overwhelming rage he felt watching that man, that stranger, touching Jackson.

Logically, logically he told himself, he knew that he was there to help Jackson, to stop his muscles wasting away. But he couldn't help his gut feeling, the anger and resentment he felt, the feeling of uselessness. Angrily he turned away from the window and marched down the corridor to the relative's room, flinging himself onto the sofa he had claimed as his own over the last nightmare days. He could hardly believe it would always be like this from now on, always needing other people to help Jackson, always watching other people touch him, move him; touches and movements Jackson could only watch but not feel, not be aware of, not the touches and caresses they had shared so recently. Aaron took a deep, steadying breath; he knew tears were not far away again, tears that were no help to Jackson. He didn't want to go back in to Jackson with red eyes, blotched and puffy eyes. He stood up again, threw some money into the coffee machine and crossly took the hot, tasteless drink back to the sofa. He pushed off his trainers and curled his legs under him, one hand grabbing the cushion, hugging it to himself. He sipped at the insipid coffee; they made better at the WRVS tea bar, but that was down two flights of stairs and he had promised Jackson he would stay close by; that was too far away, the distance too great.

Jackson kept his eyes closed, let his thoughts wander, drift back to happier times; it didn't help, he knew he had to open his eyes eventually, but memories were like scabs he had to scratch, had to feel the pain.

"Jackson?" Erik's slightly accented voice dragged him back to the present. "That's it for just now. I'll be back this afternoon. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks. Will you find Aaron for me?"

Erik raised his eyebrows. "If that is what you want, although you might be better getting some rest."

"I will, but I need to see Aaron first. Please." He hated it, hated having to ask for everything, anything. He closed his eyes against the pale eyes looking at him, assessing him. With his eyes closed he could hide.

"No worries, I'll find him for you," said Erik. "He's probably waiting at the door ready to tear me limb from limb!"

"You're probably right," replied Jackson, his voice expressionless.

Erik paused for a moment, but Jackson said nothing more, didn't open his eyes. He walked quickly from the room. He was right though, it wasn't hard to find the boyfriend; looking at him, unobserved, through the open door, huddled on the sofa, he looked younger with the aggression wiped from his face. Erik tapped the door.

Aaron heard the abrupt rapping at the door, looked up and saw the face he least wanted to see. He didn't know whether it was because the guy was so good looking, or because he was a physio and he was letting his imagination run riot, thinking about what he had to do, but irrationally, wholeheartedly, he hated him.

"We're done. He's asking for you," said Erik economically, flicking his eyes up and down over Aaron, wondering; noting the fierce look that had returned to his face. He stood aside as Aaron pushed roughly through the door, heading rapidly for Jackson's room.

Unseen Erik followed him, watched him reach Jackson's bed, watched his hand reach out, touch Jackson's face. He turned away, not understanding.

Aaron reached out his hand, his fingers gently touching Jackson's face, watching his chocolate brown eyes open at a touch he felt, welcomed, watching a tiny smile curl the corners of his lips. He let a finger stray to Jackson's lips, traced the outline of his lower lip then ran his finger slowly across his lip itself. Jackson opened his lips, just a little, the tip of his tongue found Aaron's finger, he moved his tongue, a tiny movement, across Aaron's finger, let Aaron slide his finger gently over his teeth, closing until his teeth just caught the tip of Aaron's finger. He closed his lips around his lover's finger, sucking gently for a second or two. He closed his eyes, letting his mind wander, remember; letting a brief wave of pleasure flood over him, flood through his mind.

Releasing Aaron's finger, Jackson smiled up at him.

"Thanks," he whispered.

"You're welcome," smiled Aaron, looking at the immobile figure in the bed, the halo traction framing his face, the titanium screws fixing it firmly to his skull. Moving very carefully, terrified of disturbing the complicated equipment, but needing to be close to Jackson, to let Jackson feel close to him, he leaned forward, bent his head, let his lips find Jackson's; let them touch...more than touch...then part.

Aaron dragged the chair close to the bed; he sat, letting his fingers twine gently through Jackson's hair. Sitting quietly, a comfortable silence, Aaron realised that Jackson had soon drifted into sleep. He watched him for a few moments, before leaving the room to find a nurse.

Harry Potter. If Jackson wanted Harry Potter, Aaron would get it for him. He spoke briefly to the nurse, telling her he wouldn't be long if Jackson woke up before he got back. Then out of the hospital, walking quickly to the centre of town. He knew there was a bookshop although he had never been to it before; walking in, he thought about hunting the shelves, but decided that he hadn't got the time; he would just ask. It was easy; relieved, he bought the first two books in the series then returned to the street, a few more things on his shopping list.

He stopped at the nurse station on his way back, catching the eye of Jackson's nurse.

"I got him some strawberries," he said. "Is it ok for him to have them?"

"Sure," said the nurse, "just not too many though. Diarrhoea," she elaborated, seeing a puzzled look cross Aaron's face. "Just share them with him," the nurse smiled at him reassuringly. They spoke for a minute or two more before Aaron continued along the corridor.

Hazel was feeding Jackson as Aaron entered the room, then went to the opposite side of the bed.

"He told me you'd run off with his new physio," announced Hazel, lifting the spoon gently to Jackson's mouth.

Aaron scowled. "He's hallucinating then," he said, his face softening as he saw the ghost of a smirk touching Jackson's face. "He's not my type. Plus, I hate him."

"That's all right then," said Hazel, comfortably sarcastic, enjoying the bantering change from the mood that often dominated the room. "So what's wrong with him then?"

"Bad hair, shifty eyes, too tall," grumbled Aaron.

"He's Swedish, blond hair, blue eyes, absolutely gorgeous and you're jealous," said Jackson, a genuine, smug smile crossing his lips.

"So?" challenged Aaron.

"So are you boys wanting coffee?"interrupted Hazel. "I'm going down to get it from the WRVS."

"I got Harry Potter," said Aaron, after she had gone. "And I got strawberries for us, and yes, I checked it was okay for you to have them," he added, answering the question even before Jackson asked it.

"Got gummy bears too," he smiled, waiting to be corrected.

"You just do that to bug me," smiled Jackson. "They are bears de gum."

Aaron took the first strawberry from the tub, holding it by the green petal-like stalk; he lifted it to Jackson's mouth.

"Bite," he whispered quietly, holding it steady in his hand, letting Jackson sink his teeth into the fruit. Holding Jackson's eyes with his own, he took a bite himself before offering the last fragment to Jackson.

"Sorry I didn't think of getting cream too," said Aaron.

"No, these are perfect. Thanks," said Jackson, accepting another bite of strawberry. They shared half a dozen before Jackson said he had had enough. Inwardly Aaron heaved a sigh of relief, glad that he hadn't had to tell Jackson he could have no more before he had had his fill.

Hazel returned with their coffees; "I drank mine down there," she explained, handing over the two insulated cardboard cups. "I can't remember which has the sugar in it."

Aaron took them from her and took a quick sip from each; finding Jackson's, he slipped a straw through the lid and held it for him, letting him take a couple of sucks before moving it away as he swallowed. Even in the few days since Jackson had woken from his coma, as he had been allowed to eat and drink a little more normally each day, Aaron had learnt, and grown more confident in helping him to drinks, to food. Learnt to watch him, learnt when to offer and when to wait, learnt to hide his aching heart as once again the enormity of the change in Jackson's life was brought home to him.

Jackson was sleeping when Erik returned. Aaron had been several pages into Harry Potter when he realised the rhythm of Jackson's breathing had changed, he didn't move from his chair though, laying the book down, he let his head rest on the bed, his fingers gently rubbing Jackson's shoulder; he didn't think he could feel there, he didn't think he would disturb his sleep, the comfort was all his own.

He didn't move when he heard the door open, he didn't move until Erik spoke, said hello; then he turned his head to the door, moving as little as possible.

"He's sleeping," he said, his voice neutral, betraying nothing, for Jackson's sake.

"So I see." Erik paused, thinking of leaving; it was obvious the aggressive chav was still mad at him. He changed his mind. "Can I have a word?"

Aaron moved then, sat up, looked properly at the physio.

"But not here," Erik continued.

Aaron got up, followed Erik from the room, followed him to the relative's room.

Erik stood back to let him in first. "I'll get a couple of coffees from the staff kitchen; what do you take?"

"Just milk, thanks," said Aaron, wondering at the offer of coffee, wondering what he wanted to talk about. He sat in his usual place, unconsciously lifting the cushion; hugging it to him with no thought, no realisation of what he was doing.

Erik returned a few minutes later carrying two mugs, he handed on to Aaron before sitting diagonally across from him.

"I'm sorry I was a bit off with you this morning, I should have taken more time to explain to you and Jackson."

"Yeah, you should. Mrs Macpherson didn't have a problem with me staying, why should you?" Aaron tried to hide the antagonism he was feeling; for Jackson's sake, everything was for Jackson.

Erik sighed. "Kate MacPherson is a good physio, but we work in completely different ways; she will tease the muscles to work, I need to aggressively focus on them, force them to work..." he paused, seeing a blank bemused look on Aaron's face. "Sorry, I'm not explaining this very well; just take it that we work in different ways, and I want to be alone with Jackson because he has to go to hard, painful places with me, and I don't mean the pain will be in his body, and I know from experience that it will be better if you don't see that."

"Well, if it makes it easier for Jackson..." began Aaron, hesitantly.

"And you," interrupted Erik. "How long have you been together?"

"Six months...give or take," said Aaron quietly.

"Not long," said Erik. "And you are still here?"

"Where else would I be?" countered Aaron sharply, ready to be angry.

"No, no," said Erik hurriedly. "I just meant a lot of people would have walked."

"Not me. Not from Jackson. And I'm here because I want to be, before you start getting any other ideas."

Erik nodded, saying nothing, not sure what to say, but mentally shifting his assessment, changing perceived aggression to unimaginable hurt.

"So what do you think his chances are?" asked Aaron quietly.

"Chances?"

"Of moving again."

Erik shook his head, a tiny, almost negligible movement. "It will be weeks yet before there will be any indication if any of his paralysis is due to inflammation around the cord, spinal shock. It is impossible to tell from any scans. All you can do is hope."

Aaron hugged the mug of coffee to his chest. "There are no atheists in foxholes," he said absently.

"Pardon?"

"Was on an old documentary I saw the other week...before... World War One veterans, old guys then, probably dead now; but talking about the trenches, you know, that's what one of them said "There are no atheists in foxholes." This is my foxhole, and for days I've been praying to a God I don't believe in for a miracle that probably won't happen."

"Hey! Now that attitude won't help Jackson and you need to be positive for him, because sure as anything, he is going to have some very low times in the next days and weeks. At the moment he is still on plenty of painkillers, still emotionally numbed, but as they are reduced, he will think more clearly, realise more of the implications; it will hit him hard. Then he really will need you to be strong"

Aaron nodded but said nothing.

"Do you want to go and wake him up?" asked Erik. "I'm sure he would rather you woke him than I did."

Jackson was still asleep when he returned to the room, his face peaceful. Aaron hated the thought of waking him, bringing him back to his nightmare, to what his life had become.

He touched his hand to Jackson's face, smoothed his fingers down the soft beard, "Jackson, Jackson! Erik is here. Physio."

Jackson's eyelashes flickered, once, twice, then Aaron was looking into his dark, chocolate eyes.

"Erik's here."

"Oh," said Jackson, still dozy, but surfacing memories of the animosity between the two earlier in the day was rapidly clearing his mind; worry filled his eyes.

"No, it's okay," said Aaron hurriedly. "We talked, we're good,"

"You sure?" Jackson questioned.

"We're fine. Are you ready to work?" said Erik, coming into the room, into Jackson's view.

"Suppose so," said Jackson, still not sure of the change between Aaron and Erik.

"No suppose about it," said Aaron. "Do as he tells you. Okay?" He smiled down at Jackson, relieved to see an answering sparkle in his eyes.

"Oh, I love it when you get all bossy," smiled Jackson.

Aaron gazed into his eyes, holding them for a moment. "Won't be far," he whispered.

It was late evening before Aaron had any more time alone with Jackson; Hazel returned before Jackson had finished physio; met Erik, interrogated Erik.

Aaron read a little more, Hazel dozed in the chair on the opposite side of the bed to Aaron, her hand resting against her son's neck; lulled by the gently stream of words transporting them all to a magical world.

Much later, reluctantly they had both agreed to go back to Smithy; the first night neither of them had been at the hospital. Jackson assured then he would be fine; disbelieving him, Hazel sought reassurance from the nurses. Unsure, it was hard to think of nobody there for him; although she gave Aaron time and space to be there, drawing comfort from knowing Jackson wanted him there so much; it was hard to consider then both withdrawing.

It had taken Jackson beginning to get anxious, agitated, before they agreed to leave. Snatching a last few minutes alone as Hazel was speaking to the nurses, Aaron leaned against the bed, one hand against Jackson's face.

"I got something else when I was in town this afternoon," he began, almost shyly.

Jackson widened his eyes, raised his eyebrows.

Sliding his hand into his pocket, Aaron drew out something small, held safely in his palm. Opening his fingers within Jackson's range of vision, something small, silvery, glittered in the subdued evening lights of the room. The two silver talismen Jackson had worn around his neck all the time Aaron had known him lay on his palm, waiting.

"They were pretty messed up after...after the accident. They've been at the jewellers. You can't wear it around your neck yet, although I've got the chain safe. But the nurse said I can put it round your wrist now you have one with no drips in, so they are on a bracelet."

He lifted the chain for Jackson to see, then gently lifting the dead weight of Jackson's nearest hand, carefully fastened the chain around his wrist, letting him see the two silver charms, at least back on his body.

He looked at Jackson, his lover still; felt his heart filling with pity, let a smile touch his lips, hiding his fear, reassuring his lover.

Resting Jackson's hand back on its pillow, gently, gently he leant over the bed again, letting their lips meet, letting their tongues touch, just for a second.

...

_This really didn't turn out as I meant, but I decided to upload it anyway. If you have got this far – thanks for persevering! G.x_


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